Chapter 6
Apparently, being summoned by a hot detective requires a change of scenery, because standing around in a lobby full of murder-obsessed tourists isn’t exactly conducive to serious police business or my ability to think coherently.
I lead Detective Hot Stuff toward the beach where our staff has arranged dozens of thatched umbrellas because they understand that shade—much like butcher knives—is a life-or-death matter in tropical paradise.
Brown wicker lounge chairs are already occupied by bodies in various stages of sunburn, slathered in enough white sunscreen to look like very relaxed zombies.
The ocean is a swath of electric blue, the sky reflects the water’s glory but in a paler shade of perfection, and the brown sugar sand is still cool enough to walk on without scalding your skin.
We settle at a picnic table under a giant plumeria tree that perfumes the air with an intoxicating sweetness that makes you understand why people write books about tropical romance.
Delicate yellow blooms drift down around us like nature’s confetti, landing on the weathered wood table and in Koa’s dark hair, which somehow makes him look even more devastatingly attractive than usual.
Those yummy root beer-colored eyes land on mine, and my stomach explodes with heat. I can’t help it. It’s practically a mandatory requirement to salivate in his presence. I can see at least six different women doing it now from afar.
“I’m getting serious wedding vibes from this setup,” I say, brushing petals off the table. “All we need is a ukulele player and someone to throw rice instead of flower petals. Although knowing my luck, the rice would attract more roosters, and we’d have a full-blown poultry uprising.”
Koa’s mouth twitches in what might actually be amusement. “I’ll make sure to avoid any sudden movements that could be interpreted as wedding vows. The last thing I need is to accidentally marry a witness during an active murder investigation.”
I frown at him for the homicidal finger-pointing.
“Smart thinking,” I muse. “Though I have to say, ‘till death do us part’ would have some interesting implications given our current circumstances.”
“Especially since you seem to have a talent for finding the ‘death’ part,” he says, and I catch the ghost of an actual smile. “I’d probably end up widowed before the honeymoon.”
Wow. Technically, I think there was a proposal in there somewhere. There was definitely a wedding.
Swoon.
A rooster hops onto our table, strutting toward us as if he’s planning to provide a commentary on our conversation.
Spam, that wily ball of orange fluff, appears from whatever interdimensional space cats inhabit when they’re not judging human behavior, settling beside the table with his usual air of feline superiority.
Six more cats materialize from strategic hiding spots, arranging themselves around us like furry court stenographers.
“Tell me again what happened last night?” Koa asks, pulling out his notebook, an official procedural move that I’m becoming quite familiar with.
“Well, let’s see,” I say, settling my eyes on the cobalt ocean as another plumeria blossom lands squarely on my shoulder.
“Someone decided our celebrity judge needed to be accessorized with premium bar equipment. I have to say, I’m impressed by their attention to detail—crystal stirrer, quality knife, oceanfront location.
They really went all out for the presentation. ”
His mouth twitches in what might be the beginning of a smile, but ends up in a frown. “You’re making cracks about a murder scene.”
“I make cracks about everything. It’s a coping mechanism that’s served me well through one divorce, three job changes, and now my first homicide discovery.”
“Second,” he corrects. “It’s your second homicide discovery.”
He would keep score.
I notice a slight cut under his left eye for the first time, a thin line that tells me he’s had an interesting morning that didn’t involve paperwork and coffee. “Speaking of discoveries, what happened to your face? Did someone resist arrest, or are you moonlighting as a cage fighter?”
He touches the cut self-consciously. “I walked into a low-hanging branch while investigating the crime scene in the dark last night. Police work can be very glamorous.”
“Ah, the dangers of nocturnal detective activities. I’m sure it’ll make an impressive scar for intimidating suspects.”
And, it just so happens I’m a sucker for scars.
He tilts his head my way and frowns. “Tell me exactly what you saw when you found the body,” he says, deciding to redirect this conversation toward actual police business.
“I followed our resident cat committee toward the rocky crags because they were acting like they’d discovered the holy grail of tuna cans.
Instead, I found what I initially mistook for dried beach grass, which turned out to be Coraline’s hair spread across the lava rock in a way that suggested she wasn’t planning to get up and critique anyone else’s cocktail technique. ”
Koa scribbles notes while the rooster inches closer, clearly fascinated by the investigation process. Spam begins grooming himself with a thorough attention that suggests he’s planning to be here for the long haul, enough time to acquire a hairball or two.
“Did you see anything before that? Any confrontations or arguments?”
“Actually, yes. Coraline had quite the evening of social interaction. First, she got into it with Giselle behind the thatched bar huts—and by ‘got into it,’ I mean she slapped the French out of her. The sound echoed across the water enough to make seabirds fly all the way to the Eiffel Tower.”
“And then?”
“Breezy showed up and played peacekeeper, said something sharp to Coraline, and escorted Giselle away from the conflict zone. Very chivalrous, if you’re into the whole protective surfer guy thing.”
Koa’s pen stops moving. “What did he say to her?”
“I couldn’t hear the exact words, but his body language suggested it wasn’t a compliment on her judging technique. More along the lines of telling her to back off or face consequences that probably wouldn’t involve positive Yelp reviews.”
A plumeria blossom drifts down and lands directly on Koa’s notebook, and he brushes it away with a gentle precision that makes me wonder what those hands would feel like brushing petals off other things—like, say, me.
“Was there anything else?”
I clear my throat. “There was the mystery woman incident. Someone in a flowing maxi dress and oversized sunglasses—because nighttime beach anonymity requires full costume commitment. She approached Coraline for what started as a quiet conversation and escalated into the type of heated argument that makes tourists pause their drinking. Although last night, no one seemed to pause but me.”
“How did it end?”
“With Coraline getting a pineapple juice facial courtesy of a well-aimed mai tai. There was premium rum and tropical fruit dripping from her platinum blonde hair while she sputtered outrage that could probably be heard in Maui.”
Koa looks up from his notes, those gold-flecked brown eyes focusing on me with an intensity that makes the tropical heat feel like air conditioning. “And you have no idea who this mystery woman was?”
“None whatsoever. She vanished into the night faster than my last relationship—completely and without explanation.”
The rooster decides our conversation needs his input and lets out a crow that echoes across the beach, sending several tourists reaching for their cameras to document the authentic island atmosphere. Spam opens one judgmental amber eye, annoyed by the interruption of his grooming schedule.
Koa closes his notebook and leans back in his chair, studying me with the sort of expression that says he’s trying to decide whether I’m a valuable witness or a dangerous complication to his investigation.
“Jinx,” he says, and my name in his voice sounds different than it did yesterday—less like a professional courtesy and more like something that could lead to very unprofessional complications. “You realize you’re probably the only person who witnessed all the key confrontations before the murder.”
“Lucky me,” I say, though the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like luck might have nothing to do with what’s happening between us under this plumeria tree, surrounded by curious cats and judgmental poultry.
Koa’s phone buzzes with an insistent ringing that implies someone important is calling with news that’s either very good or very bad. He glances at the number, and his expression shifts into something that could freeze tropical air.
“I need to take this,” he says, standing with a fluid grace that assures me he’s never met an awkward movement. “Steer clear of danger. If that’s possible for you.”
“Hey, I resent that implication! I don’t go looking for trouble—trouble just has excellent GPS and the resort address programmed into its navigation system.”
“We’ll talk,” he grunts, already moving away as he answers his phone with a professional voice that lets me know whatever he’s hearing isn’t going to make his day any easier.
I watch him walk back through the lobby, and I’m definitely not admiring the way his uniform fits or wondering what kind of emergency could make a man that composed look genuinely concerned.
Ruby and Lani materialize beside me as if they’ve been lurking behind plumeria trees waiting for their moment to pounce.
“So,” Ruby says, settling into the chair Koa just vacated with obvious glee, “did you two recreate that hot and steamy kiss yet, or are you still pretending this is purely professional?”
“We’re in the middle of a cozy mystery, not a romance novel,” I say dryly.
“Though I admit the plumeria petals are a nice touch. All we need is a shirtless man with questionable decision-making skills, and we’d have a bestseller on our hands.
And maybe a talking cat. Talking cats always seem prominent in the cozy mysteries I read. ”
Lani elbows Ruby in that aggressive way as only a best friend can do without getting leveled with assault charges. “Go ahead and tell her.”
“Tell me what?” I sit up a notch, my internal radar starting to ping with the same intensity it had right before I found Coraline’s body. Either that, or the kalua pig from last night’s dinner is staging a revolt.
“Ruby and I heard the Slapper tell Loco she was heading to The Nutty Wahine Chocolate Works for their chocolate-making workshop,” Lani says with barely contained excitement. “We think we should go shake her down.”
“A workshop that involves copious amounts of chocolate?” I perk up immediately. “Well, that changes everything. I mean, we’re talking about chocolate here. That’s basically a medical emergency requiring immediate intervention.”
“Exactly,” Ruby says solemnly. “It would be irresponsible of us not to investigate. For public safety reasons.”
“And quality control,” Lani adds. “Someone needs to make sure she’s not poisoning the chocolate supply with her murderous tendencies.”
“Plus, if she is the killer, at least we’ll die happy,” I point out. “Death by chocolate beats death by crystal cocktail stirrer any day of the week, or a kitchen knife.”
I glance back toward where Koa disappeared, biting my lip. “Though technically, Giselle wasn’t the slapper—she was the slapped. And I’m pretty sure Koa wouldn’t want me butting into his case.”
“But chocolate trumps police protocol,” Ruby argues with a logic I can’t argue with.
“It’s a well-known legal loophole,” Lani confirms with a straight face, and I’m starting to think she’s right.
“I’m one hundred percent certain Koa would rather I stay safely at the resort organizing lei-making classes than chasing down a potential perpetrator who’s probably learning to weaponize cocoa beans.”
Lani nods knowingly. “I thought you might say something like that.” She pulls a colorful sarong out of her apron with all the magic of producing a never-ending scarf from a hat. “Giselle dropped this as she peeled out of the parking lot.”
I snatch it up like it’s the last piece of chocolate on earth. “Well, in that case, I’m just being a responsible resort manager, reuniting one of our guests with a lost article of clothing.”
“You’re very civic-minded,” Ruby agrees solemnly. “And if there happens to be chocolate involved, that’s just a happy coincidence.”
“Exactly. And if I happen to reunite myself with a killer in the process, that’s just efficient multitasking with a side of cocoa.”
And perhaps something a bit more lethal.